


Give Yourself over to me.

by Crystal_Mazes_Lovely_Corner



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: AU-Medieval, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Also sexual bondage!, Blowjobs, Court sorcerer Deaton, Extremely Dubious Consent, Fisting, King Peter Hale, Knotting, M/M, Manipulation, Mind Control, Non-Sexual Bondage, Overstimulation, Possessive Behavior, Scent Marking, Vibrators, messed up relationships, shaving scene, tattooing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-09-05
Updated: 2019-07-02
Packaged: 2019-07-07 03:36:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Rape/Non-Con
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,775
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15900099
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Crystal_Mazes_Lovely_Corner/pseuds/Crystal_Mazes_Lovely_Corner
Summary: Stiles finds himself between a King and a Mage. The King and the Mage just see a tasty treat.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Another Dice roll! Here is the prompt!  
> D4: dub con  
> D6: age difference  
> D8: teen wolf  
> D9: A/B/O  
> D12: fisting  
> D20: mind control  
> This one took a while because it is super long. Enjoy! 
> 
> Udunie made this this awesome like she is.

Peter looked away from his work as a commotion picked up outside the tent, shouts and taunts from soldiers. It made him pause in his writing, and lasted long enough that he got up from his seat to take a look. Alan, sitting on their bed, was frowning down at his book, undisturbed. Before he could leave, one of the guards peeked in through the flap. “General Deucalion is here with a prisoner, Your Majesty.” 

Peter blinked, automatically looking to Alan to see if he had forgotten something. Alan looked just as confused as he was, setting his book aside. “Let him in,” Peter ordered. A moment later, the general entered, sans his prisoner. He must have been left with the guard. 

He strode up to Peter confidently. “You are never going to guess what I just found.”

Peter raised his eyebrow. “A decent meal?” Alan snorted, but Deucalion shrugged with a half smile.

“You aren't wrong,” he said, settling down in a chair, not waiting for it to be offered. Peter walked back to sit at his desk. “Patrols to the north haven’t been coming back, as you know. I went out with the platoon to investigate- don’t roll your eyes at me, you’ll be thankful I did- There is a village about a days ride from here; small, barely worth the effort to loot. The bodies were piled up outside the signpost, completely disrespected. We didn’t even set foot in the first house before we were attacked. This little shit was hiding on the roof and came down on us, just one of him!” Deucalion waved his hand back toward the entrance. “Still took out two of us before we could subdue him.”

Peter’s head tilted to the side. “Why didn’t you just kill him?” 

“I thought you might want to take a look,” Deucalion said smugly. 

“Why would you bring a clearly manic person to see us?” Alan asked, glaring from the other side of the tent. They had never really gotten along. 

“You’ll see.” He stood up and walked back, reaching outside, pulling a chain back. Deucalion tugged in a young man by the chains that bound his wrists. His head was bowed, long brown hair and a raggedy beard obscuring his face. He was tall, lanky arms and lithe build, but as soon as he stepped inside Peter could smell it immediately: Omega. Peter had not seen one in ages, let alone a male. His tantalizing scent wrapped around Peter, making his mouth instantly water. This situation just became far more interesting.

Deucalion pushed him down to his knees, keeping a hand on the nape of his neck. “He’s quiet now, but you should have heard him on the way here. Like a beast.” 

Peter stared down at the man. “Where are you from?” 

When he didn’t respond, Deucalion shook him in his grasp, and the man coughed gruffly. “Beacon,” he said shortly.

“The village,” Deucalion confirmed. 

Peter nodded. “What made you attack my soldiers?” The man stayed silent. Deucalion grabbed his long hair and pulled his head back, giving Peter glimpse of his face, still mostly concealed by his beard, but his eyes were open, a beautiful amber, narrowed with indignation. He wasn’t phased when Deucalion placed a knife to his throat, and impotently maintained eye contact. “Don’t bother, Deucalion,” he said. He loathed to deny the general his joys in life, but he knew that pain was not likely to deliver accurate information, especial with someone like this. Peter could tell right away that this was a rare human in front of him. There were better ways. Ways that left him pretty and whole. “If he doesn’t want to talk to us, maybe he just needs to relax a little.” He smoothly raised his gaze to Alan, who was studying their guest intently.

He nodded, not looking at Peter. “I will see what I can do,” he promised.

“I wouldn’t recommend being alone with him,” Deucalion offered. “He’s very dangerous.”

Peter crouched down so they were at eye level. “Here’s what I think happened. I think that the omega was just trying to defend himself, all alone in an abandoned village.” The man’s face scrunched up in disgust. “Because if he was the ones killing my soldiers, we would have to execute him, and then we would have to search for his alpha, and tell him the awful news.” He placed his hand at the base of the man’s throat, gently rubbing his thumb over the skin of his prominent collarbone. “Perhaps I would have to ask him personally why they had such loose control on him, hm?” The man’s eyes widened, his breath catching in his throat. “But that isn’t you, is it?”

The omega searched Peter’s face, eyes wide with the first hints of fear. Slowly, he nodded, trying to stay as still as possible. 

******

Stiles knew that he wasn’t getting out of this. Without ever having seen his likeness, he knew this man was the king. It was obvious when he was brought to the biggest tent, and then he was placed in front of this imposing alpha. He wasn’t large, but his eyes conveyed unquestioning control. It made Stiles’ blood boil, making his chains feel even heavier. 

Once they were done examining him, The General pulled him to another part of the tent, this one with the biggest bed he had ever seen. They were alone for only a moment before the bald man came after them, flanked by two pages. Stiles had no idea where they came from, maybe they had been in the tent the entire time, and just no one acknowledged them. 

Beacon hadn't known there was a war until the army had set up shop right next door. They hadn't cared until they had started demanding food that they couldn't spare, and all the abled bodied alphas. They had demanded omegas as well, but... that had been less lucrative. 

"Thank you, Deucalion, I can take him from here," The bald man said. The General bowed shallowly and departed, leaving the chains on the ground. One of the pages scrambled to pick them up, and the other went over to the other side of the bed, bringing back a lavish chair. "Please, sit," he instructed. 

Stiles looked between the chair and the man. He was a beta, but he had a quiet edge to him. His face was painfully neutral, and he stared at Stiles patiently, like he was used to waiting, but there was no doubt he expected to be obeyed. He made Stiles uneasy. He knew what would happen if he insulted the king, he couldn't begin to guess what would happen with this man. 

He slowly lowered himself to the seat, never looking away from him. The pages moved to opposite sides of the room, one working at a table of sorts preparing a razor, and the other moved to stand behind him. "It's okay," he whispered. "If you're good, you'll be fine. We won't hurt you."

Stiles huffed. He had never been 'good' in his entire life. From when his mother had told him not to go across the river to play with the strange speaking children, up until Raphael had told him to be patient when they had taken Scott away. There was no hope for him.

He felt a weight lift off his arms, he looked down at his hands, seeing the manacles had just... fallen away. He blinked down in disbelief. He jerked up as the bald man stepped toward him. Stiles could see his fingers glowing with a sickly green light. He was... he was a mage. 

His fingers flexed, and Stiles' hands snapped to the arms of the chair, trapping him, his feet pressed flush to the legs. Stiles couldn't help the yelp that came out of, nor stop his limbs from tugging on the invisible restraints. He knew the stories: witches were to be respected, they healed and helped those in need, but mages... they would eat your heart. He jerked away when the mage’s hands reached out to him, landing on his cheek. "I'm going to clean you up," he said, "If you can't stay still, I will close your mouth myself. Do you understand?" He seemed satisfied when Stiles nodded. He took the razor when offered by the page, and began his work. The one standing behind him started gathering his hair, Stiles assumed that had to go as well. 

Stiles couldn't help flinching when the metal touched his cheek, the rasp loud in his ear. He couldn’t stand to look at this man's impassive face, but he was too afraid to close his eyes, he wouldn't see if they decided to attack. He nearly jumped out of his skin when they started on the hairs on his neck. 

The mage rubbed his thumb along his cheekbone when he was done, his eyes appraising. His face hadn't been this smooth since he had started growing. Stiles imagined he looked good, but that was hardly a priority, hadn't been in a while. He thought they were done, but the mage turned to the pages again. They must have left while Stiles wasn’t looking, because they were carrying towels and a wide-lipped bowel. The man took one and dunked the cloth and rung it out. He saw what was coming, but didn’t protest as his shirt was lifted. He knew he smelled, and it was no worse than having a blade to his throat. 

The touches felt good, and he tried to keep that off his face. He got the feeling the mage knew anyway. He was only a beta, but Stiles hadn’t had any physical contact in weeks, ever since his friends had been dragged to this camp. He tried to convince himself that the lingering touches were just the man being thorough, and not a precursor of what was to come. 

Afterwards, he was left alone with the two pages, though he was still held down by magic. The pages talked amongst themselves and tried to get him to join, but he wasn’t going to bite. Whatever he said would undoubtedly be relayed to their Masters. 

He could see that it was near dusk when his captors returned. The king tore open the flap, his gaze sweeping along the room. The pages stiffened under the scrutiny and quickly scuttled away when ordered, leaving only Stiles under that piercing blue gaze. "Very nice," he said, gliding close enough to touch his face, which Stiles was wholely sick of at this point. "It's amazing what a little care can do."

Stiles growled, which only made the King chuckle. "Still not talking, I see. No matter. There's no way I can trust what comes out of that pretty mouth of yours." He turned his attention to the mage. "Are you sure you can handle it? You've been restraining him for most of the day." 

The mage sighed, stepping close to the king and allowing an arm to wrap around his waist. "I have more than enough energy, he isn't very strong." Stiles didn't have time to be offended, as he walked calmly behind the chair. His fingers pressed lightly along his face, his thumb at the center of his forehead. He felt a prickling, like if he had run stinging nettles against his cheek. The man was going to cast a spell on his mind. Stiles didn't need to know the details, he just knew he couldn’t let that happen, who knew what they would make him say? He threw himself at the bonds, trying with all his power to break free, but they didn't budge. The mage made a clucking sound, and instantly, his neck was imprisoned as well. There was nowhere to go.

The feeling was becoming more intense, like it was burrowing into his skull. He knew that his captors were saying something, but he couldn't understand over the ringing in his ears. His vision was greying at the edges, and stars started popping up around the tent, slowly spinning around him. 

_Breathe deep._ A voice said to him. It was nice, soothing. He did as it instructed, making him relax. He kept breathing, in through his nose and out through his mouth, muscles loosening where he sat.

Soon it felt like he was floating.

*******

Peter loved seeing Alan work. 

Not only was his magic beautiful to watch, but he was also incredibly attractive when he let his power flow freely, his eyes glowing unnaturally, his body swaying to a beat he couldn't hear. It was breathtaking.

The results weren't bad either. 

The man, if he could be called that, was ethereal. Now that the atrocious beard was gone, he was truly beautiful. He was all hard lines and soft, cupid bow lips, which were parted ever so slightly as he was overcome with Alan's magic. 

When Alan took his hands away, the man slumped in his seat. Alan circled the chair, lifting his chin so they could look at those beautiful glazed eyes. “What is your name?” Alan asked, keeping his voice soft to help with the trance. 

The man licked his lips. “Mieczyslaw,” he said. “But no one could remember it, so I changed it to Stiles.” 

Alan crouched down behind Stiles. "Who is this man?" He asked directly into his ear, point to Peter. 

"King Peter VI," he replied. 

"Is he your king?" 

"Yes. I'm from Beacon."

Peter lifted his eyebrows. That name was definitely from the north. His family must have fled to his village.

Alan wasn't phased. "You will obey him and answer his questions as honestly as you are able. Do you understand?"

"Yes." Alan backed away, waving his hand for Peter to proceed.

Peter started simply. "Why did you attack my soldiers?"

"They attacked my father."

"And you killed them?"

Stiles bit his lip, his face scrunching up, like he was trying to fight the answer. "Yes."

"All of them?" Peter pressed.

"One of them ran away, after he saw that I was winning," he said.

Peter paused for a moment, studying him. "How did you kill a whole patrol?" He could see the man was lythe, but that didn't equate to fighting prowess.

"They didn't think I was a threat. They thought I was weak. They were wrong." His anger sent the first inflections into his voice. 

Alan tensed, shaking his head behind Stiles. He stayed silent, reaching out to stroke along the boy’s cheek. It took a moment, but the omega instincts kicked in, and Stiles began to push into the touch, instead of away. "Are you mated, lovely?"

"N-no," Stiles stuttered, a blush creeping along his face. Peter kept an eye on Alan's reaction, seeing if he found the omega attractive enough to keep him around. Alan simply smirked, rolling his eyes fondly. 

Alan placed his hand on Stiles' shoulder, pushing the coarse fabric away to reveal smooth alabaster skin. The omega sighed, his eyes fluttering shut. Peter chuckled. "Poor thing's touch starved." 

"Indeed," Alan agreed. "Stand up," he ordered, guiding him up to stand between them. The omega swayed on his feet a little, trying to stabilize himself by reaching out to Peter's chest, but Peter caught it by the wrist. He pulled at the sleeve, raising the arm to remove his shirt. 

The omega's breath was coming fast, his glazed eyes slowly circling around. Alan wrapped the man into an embrace, hooking his chin over his shoulder, his hands trailing down to work at the ties of his pants. "He's beautiful, isn't he?" He said, looking down that pale chest. 

"Yes," Stiles answered.

Peter laughed. "You think I'm pretty, sweetheart?" Stiles nodded.

"He did murder at least five people," Alan pointed out.

Peter waved his hand dismissively. "Such a deadly flower could be useful," he said, pushing Stiles toward the bed. "What do you think? Would you work for me? Or would you try to kill me?"

"I don't want to be a murderer," Stiles confessed, "but I would kill even you to protect my family." 

Peter snorted, "Fair enough," he said, and pushed him down to sit on the bed. He turned to face Alan, who was eyeing him expectantly. Peter pulled him into a well-deserved kiss. He had told Alan that he tasted better when he was filled with energy, but he was always told that he was just being silly. Even though Alan was a beta, and he was not susceptible to the pheromones Peter produced, their kisses always lit the most passionate fire in his belly. He suspected that was love coming into play. 

There was a moan from behind them. Stiles had sat up watching them, and idly playing with his cock, hard and a lovely pink. His flush was slowly flowing down to his chest. 

“I think he likes us,” Alan said, amused.

“I think that might be your influence.” The sight, no matter what caused it, was the last straw. He pushed Stiles down to lay flat and crawled up his body, removing his clothing as he went and getting his mouth on any part of the man. His skin left bursts of spice on his tongue, making his blood sing with the urge to claim. Alan sat down by the omega’s head, playing with his hair. 

The poor thing didn’t know where to look, his eyes kept jerking between them, completely overwhelmed. He grabbed onto Alan’s thigh, his free hand twisting in the sheets. Every other breath was tinged with a whine, which was good. The more responsive he was, the less he was trying to fight Alan’s hold. 

Peter shucked his pants, his cock jumping out to point directly at Stiles. He reveled in the reactions he received: the omega froze like he had been startled, and Alan stared unabashedly. Peter smirked and blew him a kiss before getting back to work, turning his focus to Stiles’ nipple, making the man actually tremble. 

He felt wetness on his knee. Peter looked down to see the sheets were getting soaked with the omega’s slick. He leaned back, spreading Stiles’ legs to get a good look at his hole. It was beautiful, gaping already and drooling steadily. Peter fit two fingers in easily, making him arch up. Stiles turned his face into Alan’s hip, mouthing at the cloth there and worrying it between his teeth. Alan paid it no mind, lowering his hand to play with the nipple Peter had teased into hardness. “He’s so responsive,” he said.

Peter crooked his fingers up, making the boy moan behind gritted teeth. 

“Loud, too.” Alan was never this expressive, each sound had to be earned, every uncontrolled twitch a prize. This poor thing, on the other hand, just couldn’t seem to help himself. His hole was nice and loose, but Peter wanted to make sure he could take everything thrown at him. He added a third finger, and when that was taken easily, a fourth, sliding all the way so his thumb was stroking the soft skin of his balls. Stiles relaxed into it; omegas liked big on instinct, his moans picking up in pitch. When Peter started pressing his thumb in with the rest of his fingers, Stiles groaned, trying to squirm away. Peter felt his muscles try to push him out, but he was so slick, it slid in regardless, his hole stretched over the widest part of Peter’s hand. 

Peter could feel Stiles tense, shaking his head from side to side, his hand bracing to sit up. His pupils were dilating and shrinking rapidly, trying to focus. Alan pushed him back down, cupping his face, soothing him with his calm voice. 

“Shhh, it’s all right. You’re doing well, just breathe,” they both took deep breaths together. While Alan had him distracted, Peter pushed his hand all the way inside, disappearing up to the wrist. When he was safely back under, Peter started to pull back out, and shifted into a nice steady rhythm. Alan kept a hand on the side of Stiles’ face, while the other reached lower to play with the omega’s cock, matching the thrusts. It wasn’t long before the poor thing was whining on every push, loud enough that there were surely people outside the tent that could hear him. 

He writhed as he came, his muscles spasming with the force of it. Peter groaned as he felt those soft insides fluttering around him. The aftershock just kept coming as Stiles slowly relaxed into the mattress, his eyes falling shut. 

Peter hummed pleasantly as he pulled out. He was still hard, and he intended to enjoy every bit of this man, and he wasn’t going to wait any longer. “Did you like that?”

Surprising both of them, Stiles turned his head to the side, taking the fingers there and sucking them into his mouth, shoving them in as far as he could. He looked serene, masking the viciousness that the man was capable of. Peter thought, in another life, he would have made a good spy. 

He made a distressed whine when Alan tried to take his fingers back. “Oh Alan,” Peter teased. “If the boy wants to suckle…” He grabbed his hips and flipped him over, placing his face right at Alan’s crotch. “Let him suckle.” 

Alan chuckled as Stiles nuzzled into him, looking down at him fondly. Peter took the opportunity to clean off his hand. When he turned back to them, Alan had pulled down his pants, slowly working his cock into that lovely mouth. Stiles had collapsed onto his elbows, his ass sticking up enticingly, he seemed to just be sucking aimlessly, that wouldn’t work in the long run. Peter couldn’t help but fondle that offered ass before lining up his dick. “Give him a good time, Stiles. Make sure he comes.” The boy didn’t respond except to moan and sink further down on Alan’s cock. 

He locked eyes with Alan as he sunk in, hearing them both moan at the same time. Stiles’ hole gushed as he entered, sliding into him was bliss and Peter had to stop for a moment and savor it; the heat, the wetness, the soft insides. Alan threw his head back. Peter couldn’t see what Stiles was doing, but the way Alan’s eyes rolled into his head, and Stiles pushing into him, he was confident they could handle themselves. He focused on his own pleasure, setting a brutal pace, listening to the soft moans of his lover and the omega.

Stiles flowed with the thrusts, his moans picking up again and gaining in fervor. Alan stroked his hair, whispering praises as his hips started to move, fucking up into his mouth. Stiles gagged once but seemed to get the hang of it, and soon he had his nose buried in his pubic hair. Alan didn’t last long after that, holding the omega down as he came. Stiles swallowed dutifully, a little bit of come spilling down his chin. 

Watching Alan unravel heated the fire in Peter’s belly he could feel his peak coming, his knot fattening at the base and punching into Stiles, who seemed just as enthusiastic about it as he did. Peter pushed his knot as far as he could until it stuck, sending Stiles screaming with pleasure, the omega’s muscles clamping down on it. Nothing had ever felt as good on his cock, Stiles’ insides twisted in just the right way, trying to milk him and every contraction made his vision white out. He could barely stay upright. 

He had to keep him. He couldn’t imagine not feeling this again.

He pulled Stiles to his chest as they collapsed on the bed. While Peter was catching his breath, and riding the aftershocks, Stiles curled up, seeming to purr, his insides vibrating with it. Alan laid down next to them, studying Stiles. He pressed his thumb into the omega’s forehead. “Sleep.” Stiles stiffened for a moment, then slumped, his head angled awkwardly. 

Peter pulled Alan in for a searing kiss. “You are amazing,” he said, “To keep up that spell through everything.”

Alan shrugged. “I try.” He settled down on the other side of Stiles, getting comfortable. “He did make it difficult, though.”

“I suspected as much,” Peter said, pressing into Stiles’ back. He whimpered in his sleep. 

“I think we will keep him for a while.”


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This world was so good and the roll I got just lent itself to making another one!  
> D4: Non-con  
> D6: age difference  
> D8: Teen wolf  
> D9: Historical  
> D12: CBT  
> D20: tattooing
> 
> All my love to Udunie, who edited and encouraged this. And gave me the idea.

Peter was nursing a massive headache. 

There were noises all around him; the sounds of the army preparing to move. They were ready to engage with Argentum forces, after days of stagnation. He would rather be at the front of the pack, but he knew the importance of leading from the rear. He had grown tired of simply pacing around his tent watching his servants scurrying around. He stomped over to the entrance to the ‘bedroom’ where he had left Stiles sulking. He didn’t particularly like being chained up inside, but Peter was not risking him getting lost in all the chaos. 

Stiles was sitting cross-legged on the bed, glaring down at the paper he was scribbling on. Alan had decided to teach the poor thing how to read, and had told him to copy letters before he had wandered off somewhere. Peter wasn’t worried, he would be back before they left. 

Stiles quickly abandoned his work, pushing it off his lap as he rose to his knees on the bed. “What’s going on outside?” he asked, keeping Peter in his line of sight as he moved about the room. 

Peter crossed to the other side of the bed to grab his cloak. “We’re heading out to meet enemy forces, pet,” he replied. 

Stiles' hands tightened on the bedpost. “I can help, you know.” 

Peter huffed, tired of this game before it had begun. “I’m not letting you out of this tent now,” he said slowly, as if he were talking to one of the slower lords. “You won’t come back.”

“Nothing gets by you, your Majesty.” 

“Cut the sass,” Peter sneered, already moving to exit the room. 

“If you didn’t like my sass, you would have tossed me out days ago,” Stiles bit out. “My muscles ache from staying on this bed. I need something physical to do. I’m going mad!”

Peter captured his chin in his hand, trapping him in a kiss. Stiles bristled at the contact, pushing at him and growling, even as he reciprocated. A string of drool connected them as they parted. Stiles seemed to have to shake himself, petulantly scrubbing at his lips as if to wash away the act. “I’ll give you something physical to do when I get back,” Peter said with a little slap to the cheek. “And if you finish your task, I’ll give you a treat.” And with that, he walked away.

Stiles was left grumbling to himself.

******

Alan wasn’t very surprised to find that Peter had left to help oversee the camp’s move. He ignored the frantic servants as they scuttled about, beelining right to the bedroom. 

He pulled back the flap to find the room empty, the chain curled up haphazardly on the bed. 

******

Peter did not like the aura that was coming off Alan in waves. He still gave off the air of unimpressed neutrality, but his scent was full of anger and distress, something that had Peter already growling, ready to attack. Deucalion beside him instantly felt the shift, and politely excused himself.

Alan waited until they were right next to each other. “Stiles is not where you left him,” he said softly. 

The news felt like a kick in the gut. Peter couldn’t help the snarl that came out of him. That was unacceptable. He took off back toward their tent, Alan following swiftly behind him. 

He could smell Stiles easily in the bedroom, but not in the other parts of the tent. He quickly walked back out to sniff around the outside, finding a particularly strong path leading from the back. So he snuck out. Good, didn’t need to murder the guards. There were only one set of bare footprints, but there had been so much traffic that they were barely visible, and eventually disappeared altogether. Peter followed his nose again, leading them to off to the far edges of the camp, then just… stopped.

Peter took in where they were; they were in a small space between some tents where supplies had been dropped off. There were other alpha scents all around, but here it was sharper, one alpha had been here for a while. It sent boiling rage coursing through him, and it took him a moment to realize why. There was arousal hanging in the air, reeking of the alpha, but his omega wasn’t to be found. 

It made him see red. 

The dual scents had gone off in separate directions. He didn’t have time to waste, so he took a deep grounding breath, trying to parse out the details of the scents. They were both aroused, but one held a spicier, more enticing underlay, the one leading back to the denser parts of the camp. He took off in that direction, ignoring the stares and the people trying to jump out of his way. He spared swift glances to smaller men, only long enough to see that they were not who he was looking for.

They were led to the main drag of the camp, where soldiers were starting to line up in their uniforms, ready to march out. Peter scanned the crowd, it didn’t help that he had no idea who’s clothes Stiles had taken, so he had to study each of their faces, a scrutiny that did not go unnoticed. All the soldiers held still as they were passed. Peter searched them, while Alan scanned the surroundings. 

He jerked when he felt a hand on his shoulder. He turned to see Alan pointing a little ways in front of them. He barely saw a lithe figure disappear behind a corner. Peter smirked. Stiles was smart, trying to mask his scent, doubling back, going into more populated areas. If Peter didn’t have such a good memory for scents, it probably would have worked. Instead of going straight after him, they crept around the other side of the tent. Stiles was walking calmly, trying to blend in with the surrounding soldiers that were moving about. They came out the other side of the tent right in front of him. 

Stiles nearly jumped out of his skin, his eyes darting between the two of them. He must have grabbed someone else’s clothes along the way, perhaps the alpha’s whose scent he was still smothered in, because he was practically swimming in them. He took a step back, wide-eyed. The shoulder of the shirt shifted down, and revealed reddened skin. 

Peter knew that he must look terrifying, he wasn’t trying to hide his rage. The boy reeked of offensive scent, and the alpha. Peter had half a mind to track him down, pull him limb from limb. He reached out toward Stiles, who flinched away. 

Alan, who had been behind him, grasped him by the wrist, giving him a cool glance before moving forward. He held out his hand the omega. “Come along, Stiles,” he said softly. 

Stiles looked over his shoulder, seeing the crowd that was forming behind him. He knew he had no chance of getting away. Hanging his head, he accepted Alan’s hand. 

******

Stiles didn’t fight as he was pulled back to the tent. They were not bothered on their march back, everyone being too busy or too afraid of the King’s wrath. Peter practically ripped the tent’s flap off as they went inside, hurling Stiles inside the bedroom. 

Stiles staggered back, tripping over himself and falling onto the bed. He bounced once, glaring up at them, crossing his arms over his chest. Peter turned away from him for now, pulling Alan over to the desk, facing away from the omega. He took a few deep breaths to calm himself, filling his nose with the familiar scents of his lover. Alan eyes had fixed onto the surface of the desk there, holding some of their things, herbs and vials for him, and quill and parchment for Peter. Alan took his hand and raised it to his lips, his thumb rubbing against his signet. “We can make sure this doesn’t happen, again.”

Peter felt a smile stretch across his face as he stared at the crest on the ring. Alan couldn’t sense the scents in the way Peter could, but he was sure the mage understood. And brilliantly, Alan had come up with a solution. He kissed Alan on the cheek before turning back to the boy. “Take off those rags,” he ordered. 

Stiles was peeking out at them from behind his arms and the hair in his eyes. He perked up a little more when he saw that Peter’s temper had cooled, but he still studied them suspiciously. He slowly sat up and worked at the buttons on his stolen shirt. “I was just trying to _leave_.”

“We know,” Peter growled. “And you almost made it. It was a good plan, I’m almost impressed.”

Stiles blinked in disbelief. “Then why the _fuck_ are you so mad?”

Peter grew impatient with his stalling, taking matters into his own hands. Stiles yelped, but knew better than to pull away. “You’re methodology,” he snarled into the boy’s ear. “You let a filthy little nobody put his hands on you, his scent.”

“ _I’m_ a filthy little nobody,” Stiles hissed back. 

“Not anymore.” When he was bare, Peter pulled him in, back to chest, resting against the headboard. Alan settled down in front of them, holding a quill in his hand and muttering over it. The foreign scent was strongest at the omega’s throat, clawing at him again. He pulled Stiles' head to the side, rubbing at the thin skin there to try and scrub it away. “Who was he?”

Stiles was shivering, his eyes glued to what Alan was doing, the tip of the quill glowing a soft purple. “Stiles,” Alan prompted when he remained silent. “You know we will get an answer.”

“I don’t know,” he said quickly, turning his face to look at Peter. He hummed, cupping that vulnerable throat, feeling as he swallowed nervously. “I didn’t ask, I… I didn’t want him to get hurt for this.” 

Peter thought this was another smart move on Stiles' part. He still had half a mind to track the alpha down and have him hanged for his crime, but perhaps he could hold it over Stiles' head for later. He decided to let it go for now. “Where should we put this, hmmmm?” he said, removing his hand to trace along Stiles' collar bone. 

“What are you talking about?”

“We want to make sure this never happens again,” Peter replied, “but this is also a punishment.” He trailed his fingers down, pausing over his heart before going lower, feeling Stiles' muscles jump as he laid his hand down to frame Stiles' limp penis.

Stiles tried to squirm away while Alan simply raised an eyebrow. “It will be difficult to draw, especially in this state.”

“Well, I guess we’ll need to get him hard then,” Peter purred. 

“I’ll need your ring.” Stiles' eyes followed the movement as Peter twisted his seal off his finger. Alan set it aside, along with the quill, and moved to lay down on his stomach. He made himself comfortable, placing his hands on Stiles' thighs so he couldn’t close them, and started kissing at the soft flesh. Stiles made a confused little noise, looking between the two of them to try and grasp what their end goal was. As Alan took the boy into his mouth, Peter worked at his neck, worrying the skin between his lips to get rid of the lingering scents. Soon there was only the smell of their own arousal, sweet and ripe. It took some coaxing, but Stiles began to relax, throwing his head over Peter’s shoulder. He was such a responsive creature, moaning and twisting this way and that, like he just couldn’t help it. The last several days had been a loud, satisfying experience. 

Alan was working tirelessly, bobbing his head and hollowing his cheeks to slowly drag himself up that cock. Peter knew first hand how skilled that mouth was, he could imagine how it must have felt. His own dick was getting hard in his trousers. He pressed into Stiles' ass, feeling how he trembled, the fabric getting wet with his slick. If it didn’t mean he had to move, he would have shucked off his pants and taken him right there. They were so enraptured with each other, Peter didn’t want to break the trance. 

Stiles whined as Alan pulled away. He was nice and hard now, his cock laying rigid against his stomach. Alan grabbed the discarded materials, holding up the ring to gauge where best to put the seal. He pushed the tip of the quill into the grooves to fill it with his magic, turning the brass black with ink. 

Stiles tensed instantly, trying to twist away, to roll onto his side. His fists rose as if to strike, but Peter easily trapped them to his chest. “No!” he screamed, kicking out, narrowly missing Alan and slamming into Peter’s ankle. 

“Stiles,” Peter growled, grabbing his chin so he would meet his gaze. “Do not make this worse than it has to be.”

“I’m sorry,” Stiles said, his breath quick. “I’m sorry, I didn’t know. I won’t do it again, I promise.”

This was the first time he had seen open, honest fear on the omega’s face. His instincts wanted to soothe it away, while his rational brain saw the lies he was telling. “Do not feed me lies, no matter how sweet.” He pulled Stiles back into position, prying his thighs open, before nodding at Alan to continue. 

“Please,” he breathed. Alan didn’t hesitate. He pressed the seal into Stiles' cock, the purple glow radiating out and around it. Stiles' scream rang loudly in Peter’s ear, long and ragged. His fingers dug into his chest as he jerked in the hold. When the light faded away, Alan pressed his palm down over it, replacing the light with a warm red glow. Stiles slumped against Peter's chest, panting and shivering from the pain. He tried to roll off the bed when Peter released his arms, but Alan stopped him, pushing him off Peter. Stiles curled up onto his side, muttering profanities under his breath, his voice wet with tears. 

Peter sat up, looking at the omega’s cock. He was surprised to find it still hard, the beautiful, sharp lines of the royal crest traced onto it, right under the head. Peter rubbed his thumb over it, ignoring Stiles' weak attempts to push him away. Every detail was flawless, right down to the chipped tooth on the wolf’s head. 

Peter pulled Alan in for a deep kiss while he ran a soothing hand over Stiles' hair. “You never fail to impress.” Alan smiled at the praise.

“Can you two love birds take this somewhere else, and _leave me the fuck alone_?” Stiles growled.

“Language,” Peter admonished, ruffling his hair before withdrawing. “I was in the middle of something when your latest escape was discovered. Can you keep an eye on our pet for me?”

“Of course,” Alan said. 

Peter left him with a parting kiss. “Be back soon then. I still need to thank you,” he said, winking.

“We’ll be waiting with baited breath,” Alan replied, while Stiles muttered a less savory response.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Comments are love!


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HA! Who saw this coming? I didn't It smacked me in the face and held me hostage for a week and a half. 
> 
> I was an idiot and made a bad turn plot wise halfway through, luckily the amazing Udunie set me straight.

"And of course," King Argentum said at the end of his speech, "I hope this alliance will bring us all happiness and good fortune." He raised his goblet toward Peter. "To a long peace." 

Stiles didn't know what he was doing at this place. Every single person he was surrounded by knew he didn't belong there. It screamed from all angles, from his ill-fitting formal wear to his irritated scent. He had been given a mix of fashions: a shirt with embroidered gold and sleeves trailing all the way to the floor and tight, form fitting pants. It was impractical and cumbersome, trying to get into his food as he tried to eat. 

They weren't even seated next to Peter, He and Alan had been placed in the second-ranking table, with all the Nobles that had been selected for this party, if it could be called that, which Stiles would distinctly not. He wasn't having any fun, and he didn't think anyone else was either. It was hard to tell with Alan, but it was his assumption that whenever he had to interact with people that weren't the king, he was counting down the seconds. The people around them were talking to him, asking him questions about his magic, and at least some of them were interesting enough to pay attention to, but he was definitely on display, just like Stiles was: an oddity that was here for entertainment. 

Peter was definitely not. He hid it just as well as Alan, but his eyes kept glancing over to them when he thought no one was looking, and he would have been right if Stiles wasn't so determined to catch his eye. Peter tipped his glass to him whenever that happened, and some people who were paying attention looked to Stiles in kind. 

"Stiles," an alpha woman to his left cooed at him. "How have you found the castle?" 

Stiles had actually loved the castle, as little as he had seen of it in the few days he'd been there. He had been either confined to Peter's quarters, or tied to Alan's side when he left. It was luxury that Stiles had heard tales of, from people who traveled or had lived in castle towns: Plush carpets everywhere, light around every corner, and beautiful gardens, where Stiles often ran around when Alan was tending to some form of plant. He was particularly enjoying the bed, which was much better than the one that had been in the camp. "It's lovely, my lady," he said politely. "It is very well maintained." 

One of the men near him snorted, seeming to take his opinion as invalid, but the woman smiled at the statement. "My mate and I come here often over the summer, we're friends with the lord of the house, it is such a wonderful place to spend a heat." 

The subject turned so quickly that Stiles choked on his spit in surprise. "I, uh, I will take your word for it." 

"You'll have to tell me how it compares to your usual haunts," she said, and now Stiles could hear the snideness in her voice. 

Stiles didn't know how to respond, his eyes flicking to Alan for help, and he was surprised when he got it. "You'll have to forgive us, my lady," he said smoothly. "In the courts we are from, these matters are meant to be private, or discussed with close relations." 

The woman pouted, "Even for omegas?" She gave Stiles a little wink, her hand going to flick back her blond hair. "You can't expect me to sit in front of such a rarity, and not ask questions." 

Stiles was about to respond that she should ask her own omega, but Alan grabbed at his wrist, giving it a tight squeeze. "Please, consider it an ask of modesty. A trait we value in our omegas." 

Stiles fought off the scowl that crept up his face. If this woman had been a person from his village, he would have punched her in the face, and then probably stole her wine. He was not helpless, he wasn't fucking modest. He was a caged animal, chaffing under his collar and these fucking sleeves. She was looking at him like she expected him to be embarrassed, but if given the chance, he would have stabbed her hand with his fork. 

But that would probably be frowned upon in polite society. So instead he stabbed at some roasted carrots instead. 

*********

Peter was still playing with the other royalty by the time they were leaving. Alan had apparently decided he'd had enough, and excused them as politely as possible. They were alone as they walked through the halls, but Stiles kept his head down until the sounds of the halls were far behind them. "Thank you," he said softly, "for talking that lady back." 

Alan stopped at a corner. He turned to face the tapestry there, seeming to lean in to examine it. "This is all a game, Stiles, you have to remember that," he said, not looking at him. "When we are on our own land, we must sniff out any that would wish us harm. When we are in a foreign place, we are the ones being dissected. This place is in need of armor, as much as any battlefield." 

Stiles licked his lips. "If this is a lesson about me being useful to you two," he started out. He shoved this thumb to the stairs leading down to the lower levels. "I could be of more use down there than I ever would up here." 

"Peter wants you up there so that we can keep an eye on you. You've proven yourself a flight risk." He paused for a moment. "Perhaps it is time to prove him wrong." 

Stiles blinked at him, not understanding what he meant at first. Then a smile spread across his lips. "Thank you," he said again. He turned to the stairs, readying to head down them and not look back. 

A hand shot out to grab his elbow tightly. Alan pulled him in close to murmur in his ear. "You will be back in the room by morning. You know by now that if you try anything, you will be found, and that you won't like the consequences." 

Stiles sighed. "Yeah, I understand that by now, Alan." 

The grip loosened. "Be careful," he said before finally pulling back. Then he walked away, leaving Stiles puzzled by the statement, but not enough to be distracted. Before he went down looking for the real fun, he found one of the swords on the show suits of armor. It was sharp enough to cut the sleeves off, at least.

*******

Peter stumbled into the room well after midnight. He was pleasantly buzzed after the night’s events. A truce wasn't really what he had been looking for, but truly it had been too early to tell who would win over the land battles, and if there was anything to be said about him, it was that King Peter only fought those who wished to fight. He could satiate his battle lust elsewhere. 

His regular lust, he could take care of now. His eyes scanned the large suite, his nose filling with the wonderful scent of earth and lightning that was Alan, and he followed it to the inner chamber, where he was curled up on the bed, reading by the candlelight in a thin robe he had found from somewhere. He knew it didn't belong to either of them. He looked away from the page and set the book aside, straightening up when Peter approached. "Welcome back," he greeted. "Was it everything you wanted?"

Peter hummed his approval, his hands going to Alan's shoulders as he leaned forward and kissed him. "At least it's over," he mumbled, already taking off his clothing. "Did you enjoy yourself?"

Alan snorted. "It's the same old thing, just a different setting. At least this time they were interested in Stiles as much as they were me."

"And you got to defend his honor," Peter chuckled. "Where is he?"

Alan took a moment to answer. "I suppose he's down in the kitchens by now." 

"What?" Peter snapped, jerking back to stare Alan in the eye. As usual, he held his gaze steadily. "Why is he there? He was supposed to stay with you the entire time." 

"And he did," Alan stated, "until I told him to go to the lower levels and intermingle."

"And why," Peter growled, "would you do that?" 

"Because I am not a prison warden," Alan said calmly. "And he cannot go anywhere without me knowing." 

"That is not the point!" Peter said, twisting back so that they stood apart again.

"Then what is? That I, and you for that matter, are supposed to put in all this effort into keeping a person around us, in our rooms for god's sake, for what? To be a plaything? To watch as he gets more and more frustrated that he tries to kill us in our sleep?" Alan pushed himself to stand, now glaring down Peter with his full anger. "You wanted him to be useful, let him be useful, and stop tethering him until he chokes." 

Peter took a step back, feeling like he had just been moved by the words physically. "You... you actually like him." 

Alan paused, seeming not to have considered that. "Well, as you said, he is smart." 

Peter smirked, feeling the fire of his anger fading away. He reached out to Alan. "You're right," he conceded, pulling him close. 

Alan sighed and rested his head on Peter's shoulder. "Think of it as a trial run," he said. "For when we take him back home. We can find his place for him to be useful and integrate him into our entourage without any of the fall out of testing him in different groups." 

Peter nodded thoughtfully, "There isn't anyone here worth keeping appearances with anyway, at least none that he can get his hands on." 

Alan gave him a small smirk. "Exactly." 

Fully calm now, quickly thanks to the alcohol. He walked Alan back to the bed. "When did you get smarter than me?" 

Alan scoffed. "I've always been smarter than you."

Peter had to admit that was true. He was the one who really taught him how to play the role of a king, even in the roles he wasn't made to fill. He was just so restless, and couldn't see the fine lines that people had to walk just to maintain the appearance of civility. Peter had never seen the point when he was younger, it was still hard, but he knew now how to get what he wanted, when he wanted. It was all a matter of applying the right tools. 

When it came to staying in the shadows and intimidating people, he sent Alan in. When it came to strategies and commanding armies, he sent for Deucalion. He only came in for the direct approach. 

He would have had to find a place for the omega sooner or later, now all he had to do was sit back and wait.

*******

In the morning, however, there were still only two bodies in the bed. Peter was slow to wake on the best of mornings, but after a hangover, he was lucky to get up before noon. This sensation though, that something was missing, something that was _his_ , made his eyes flash open. Alan, already being awake, felt the change instantly. "He's two floors below us," he groaned. "Please let one of the guards handle it like a normal king."

Peter kissed at his temple as he dragged himself out of the bed. "I'll be right back," He promised.

Castles, when you've lived in them all your life, were easy to navigate. They were centered around the public spaces, the dining rooms, the throne rooms, the courtyards, and everything flowed out around those. The lower you were in the outer wings, the more likely one was to find the workers. Most nobles didn't even know how to get down there, often times covering up the staircases with doors, or even false walls these days. Thankfully, Peter didn't even have to get that far. As soon as he was in the main hallway, his nose was hit with the scent of Stiles, and from the proximity, he was just around the corner. 

As he got closer, he could also pick up the smell of wine and sweat. Stiles was at the very top of the stairs, and was supporting himself by leaning heavily on the wall. The shirt he had been wearing at dinner was hanging off of him, the long elegant sleeves had been mutilated, cut off at his elbows. He perked up as he heard Peter approach. "Oh, good, I knew you'd find me." He pushed off the wall and right into his arms, giggling. From here, with his mouth so close to Peter's face, the stench of alcohol was overwhelming. "I was jussssssttt thinking about you." 

"How long have you been drunk?" Peter growled. 

Stiles huffed, the thin smile growing wider. "I'm not drunk, I'm sleepy," he replied, wrapping his arms around Peter's shoulders more securely. "I was celebrating with everyone else downstairs, and I wanted to be the last one to fall asleep." 

"Why on earth-" 

"So I didn't get murrrrdddered, keep up, asshole." 

Peter looked around, seeing that no one was around, he picked up Stiles' lanky frame and started carrying him to their room. "If you were worried about that, you should have stayed with Alan, like you were supposed to do." 

"So you don't want to hear about what I learned from King Argentum's pages?" Stiles said quietly, more like a stage whisper. 

"I didn't say that." 

"Good," He settled in for the short trek. He was quiet until they reached the door, and the guard was fiddling with the handles. "You don't respect me," he mumbled, softly now. 

Peter paused just inside the door, where they were alone. "I think very highly of you," he replied. 

"It's not the same fucking thing," Stiles snapped. "Everyone thinks 'very highly' of omegas for being able to pop babies out, but you don't see them walking around here, all alone like people trust them or some shit. I haven't seen one other omega since I came to your camp. I think I tried to find them last night, but I got stopped by some idiots who wanted to mess with me. I stabbed him in the thigh by the way, sorry not sorry." He snorted at his own joke. "Don't worry though, he doesn't work here, I don't think."

"So long as he's no one important," Peter replied. "Next time you just kill them, if they aren't someone important." 

"Figured you would disapprove," Stiles said, sounding decidedly unconcerned. 

"Of course not. Like I said in the beginning, no one can fault a helpless omega for defending themselves." He adjusted his grip as Stiles scowled, and started taking them into the room where Alan was just sitting up. "Now tell us what you found out." 

But Stiles was already asleep.

********

Teaching Stiles how to be useful was the highlight of Peter's time in the Argentum summer palace. He still only let Stiles hang off his arm like an inelegant bracelet, and whisper in his ear when he saw something worth pointing out, and soon Stiles was doing the same, pointing out when a servant was too close to their charge, or when their hands shook from overexertion. Everyone assumed that they were saying sweet nothings to each other, even when he had been in very similar positions with Alan and had only been met with nothing but suspicion. Peter found it endlessly amusing, in spite of -or more because of- Stiles' obvious irritation. 

He could clearly see that the omega preferred being with Alan, where Alan actually let him do things, like assist in gathering ingredients and let him read books from his private collection, and on those occasions, he was much more agreeable. He was never... pleasant, at least not in the way an omega was supposed to be. He griped and complained and flailed about when he was excited, but he was also sharp, the intelligence he and Alan knew was buried under the surface of unrefinement was coming out. 

Stiles pointed out that the princess- the now King's sister- was probably the cause of some troubling murders that were taking place in town, something that neither of them had even considered until he listed the obvious "She keeps eyeing up the guards that get attacked, and her maid says she goes through underskirts like bread." Afterwards, they agreed to let him back into the underling areas as a reward.

It was a test for Peter as well, finding the balance of techniques, but not giving him too much to overpower either of them. It was really easy when it came to Alan's magic, there was nothing he could do against that, which meant they knew where he was at all times, and he couldn't do any harm to them even if he wanted to. Alan put an extra spell on him when he was sleeping to make sure that they would know if he tried to leave the castle grounds. 

It was all going swimmingly, until all of a sudden it wasn't. 

In the evening when he showed up for dinner with the royal family again, he was the first to arrive. He immediately noticed that Princess Kathrine's seat was missing, a placement not even being set out for her. He was told by a page that the King would be with him shortly. 

Fifteen minutes later, a guard knocked on the door. "If you would please, Your Majesty, My King would like for you to follow me, please," he said nervously. Peter was curious enough to follow without protest. He was led to a small study looking room near the corner of the castle, an inner sanctum of the royal family. It was only large enough for a desk and some chairs, two of which were occupied by King Argentum and, surprisingly, Stiles. He was flanked by two guards He didn't turn around when Peter entered, but he could see his shoulders were tense, and smell the distress on him. It instantly set his teeth on edge. 

"King Argentum," Peter said, as calmly as he thought was appropriate. "What is my omega doing here with you?" 

"I'm afraid we've had an... unfortunate event occur," the king said, he gestured for Peter to sit. From this angle, he could clearly see Stiles' face. The front of his clothing had been slashed at, revealing his chest, streaked with thin lines of blood. A bruise was blossoming on the underside of his chin. When it registered to him that Stiles had been attacked, he took in a breath sharply, which finally got Stiles to look at him. His eyes widened as his hand landed lightly on his cheek, turning Stiles' head this way and that to inspect for other injuries. "I'm fine," he said quietly. 

"He was attacked," King Argentum said. "And I have been given the cruelest task of arresting the perpetrator: My own sister." 

Clarity flew into his mind in an instant, and it took him a considerable self will to act his part. He turned his gaze to the king, ready to play the protective mate. "What?" he snarled. "You're family dared to lay hands on one of my own? My own personal circle." 

King Argentum raised his hands in surrender. "There is no excuse for what she has done. Your omega was just telling me about his ordeal, and it sounds like his instance was one that was very similar to other murders that have been taking place over the past few weeks." he sighed, placing his elbows on the surface in front of him. "There are no words to say how sorry I am that this occurred, Peter. I feel the need to impress upon you that I had no knowledge of my sister's wicked deeds." 

"Of course," Peter agreed automatically. "What will be done with her?" 

"She will be executed, obviously," the king said. "Though it will pain me greatly." 

"I can only imagine," Peter agreed, already working out the information in his head. The King was obviously ready to leave his family behind for the side of justice, a trait that was interesting, if nothing else. At the very least, if he did what he said, he could be sure that this treaty would be held up on his end. He turned his attention back to Stiles, who was doing his best to balance trembling and keeping still, looking to all like he was 'holding it together.' It seemed to be good enough to fool the king, so he wouldn't mention it later. "I'm sure that I will want to know all of the details, but right now I have to make taking care of him my priority.”

"Of course," the king said, waving his hand for them to stand. Peter turned on his heels without looking back, the appearance of a King expecting to be followed. Stiles was on his heels by the time the door opened for them. He waved for the guards to leave them be, no one would question why he would want to be alone with him, they would think it was because he was being territorial. 

Stiles was definitely aware that he was in trouble. "Now, I can explain," he was already saying as they rounded the corner. 

"Oh I'm all ears," Peter said, somehow keeping his voice calm. He turned and grabbed the boy by the elbow, unable to keep that instinct in check. "But not here." Stiles knew by now that the walls had ears, so he smartly kept his mouth shut as they marched back to their rooms. No one looked twice at them, too put off by the rage that most of them could smell. 

Stiles staggered as he was released. Peter left him alone to give instructions to the guards that they were not to be disturbed, and then locked the door. By then Stiles was on the other side of the room, placing the small table between them. Peter merely quirked an eyebrow in order to explain. "So what's got you so mad this time?" he asked.

"You're a smart boy, you seem to already know," Peter snarled, but just to make it as clear as possible. "You set yourself up as bait." 

"Of course I did!" Stiles defended. "You said the only way she would be stopped is if she was caught in the act by her own people, so I made it happen." Stiles took a deep breath. "It was really easy, so easy I’m surprised it took her this long to be caught.” 

"You do not act on information without my permission," Peter said, stalking over to start grabbing at him.

"And let her get away with that?" Stiles emphasized. "It was obvious you weren’t going to do anything about it, so it wasn’t like you cared." 

"If you had waited, told me what you were planning, we could have come up with something other than the idiotic plan of yours," Peter replied. 

"Idiotic? it worked!"

"That's not the point," Peter finally snapped. "If you had miscalculated, if she had been able to convince her guards you were a threat, you would be dead!" 

This shocked Stiles so much that it allowed Peter to finally get a hold of the omega again. "You're mad... because I could have gotten hurt?" 

Several responses floated around Peter's head, but most were too vulnerable, so he settled on "You are hurt!" He pulled Stiles back to the bedroom and tossed him onto the bed. There was already rope there, meant to tie back the curtains on the four posts. Now it was used to tie back Stiles' limbs. He gave a token struggle, but his heart didn't seem to be in getting away, it was just to give Peter more resistance. 

When he was laid out spread eagle, Peter looked around the room for something else. Stiles looked petulant, not remorseful. His sharp eyes landing on Alan's chest, and Peter’s mind went through a list of what it contained. Remembering something, he sauntered over to it, not giving Stiles what he was thinking. "You have not earned the right to act on your own, and at this rate, you never will." He turned around holding what he had been looking for so that Stiles could see: A long, thin metal cone, and a very familiar vial of oil. "You go where I say, you do as I say until you prove that you can do that on instinct." 

"What is that?" Stiles asked. He knew that it came from Alan's personal effects, and he had been around enough to know that he had no idea what to expect. When Peter started cutting off his clothes, something that had happened quite often over the past few weeks, he started tugging at his bonds. "This cannot be what happens every time I piss you off." 

"Hush." He knelt on the bed, taking the oil and coating the... toy in it. Stiles didn't struggle, didn't even say a word as Peter parted his cheeks, feeling around until he felt that loose hole. He was amused, but not particularly surprised when he found it puckered and a little wet already. He slid a finger in just to be sure that he was ready, then pushed the cone inside in one smooth thrust. Stiles shuddered, but the scowl on his face remained. It was small and wasn't enough to give him pleasure. That was when Peter squeezed very hard at the base, making it start to move and thrust on its own. Stiles convulsed, unused to the odd feeling. 

Having seen Alan on this device many times, Peter knew that it was something one took a while to get used to. He smirked as he smoothed a hand over his omega's stomach. "Now stay here while I try to clean up this mess." 

******

The earth here wasn't as... vibrant as it was in the country, but that was to be expected. He could still feel the after effects of what happened last night, the pang of violent death and the magic that had tracked it, but there was still a thrum in the air, and he was trying to suss out the different ties. 

At home, he had all of the lines of energy all parsed out. He missed the familiarity of it. He had worked very hard to learn each strand of life force, from the trusted guards all the way down to the farmers that delivered the grains. He felt the one, the one most important to him, that tied so well with his, untangle itself from a bright red spot, and head toward the meeting rooms of the King. He could feel that Peter was charged with something, as was everyone he had been interacting with, and something wasn't settling down. There was one, full of rage and malice, that was pulsing in the dungeons. 

Passed them he could feel something on the other side of the castle, the side where they were residing. In their rooms, in fact, the light blue power that flared whenever Stiles was starting to rev up was out in full force, calling out to anyone that would listen. He decided to heed it, and got to his feet, leaving the church with a pleasant nod to the people sitting in the shade. 

The town surrounding this castle was small, not built to accommodate the large amounts of soldiers and diplomats that came with a peace treaty. The people around him were irritable and paranoid of each other, it left a bitter taste in his mouth. People stared at him as he made his way back up the street. When he wasn't trying to blend it, and he didn't these days, people could sense that there was something... off about him. Alan hadn't minded for a long time, it made people leave him alone.

It wasn't until he got back to the suite, where the guards stationed there shifted uncomfortably when he approached that he knew something was going on in there. Stiles was the only one he could sense, still emitting that bright and powerful energy, but it wasn't until he opened the doors that he could smell it: the overwhelming smell of a desperate omega. 

Stiles was tied to the bed, his limbs pulled taunt as he writhed on the sheets. He seemed to be wrecked, sweat sticking to his forehead, and his muscles trembling with fatigue. He looked up blearily as Alan approached the bed, letting out a long-suffering whine when he saw who it was. "Alan," he moaned, and even he wasn't immune to the rare need that was in the omega's call. "Please." 

He sat by Stiles' side. At this distance, he could hear the shaking, something that he was used to hearing used on his own body. He was surprised to see that he was injured, with bruises and cuts lining his torso. That wasn't in Peter's repertoire. "Ah," he said clarity dawning on him. "And what did you do this time?" 

Stiles groaned, his head hitting the back of the mattress. "I uh," he gave a breathless laugh that turned into a moan. "I honey trapped the princess." 

"Oh Stiles," Alan sighed, seeing how this all played out now. He placed a sympathetic hand on his stomach, feeling it quivering under his palm. He must have been here for hours. If he was right, Peter was out spinning it to his advantage. This late, it was more lucrative to stay here, and prepare for whatever it was that Peter needed when he returned. He sat down by the vanity, bringing the water left out closer to him so that he could start making pastes of the lavender he had gotten. Not all spells had to be nefarious, and the woman who had sold it to him had looked skeptical when it had been the only thing he bought. 

Besides he needed a distraction. Though a beta, he was not immune to the soft pleas behind him, but it was obvious that Peter wanted him desperate, and so he should remain. 

"What was I supposed to do?" he whined. 

"Nothing," Alan supplied, turning back around. "You haven't earned it yet. You don't know what to do with what you know." 

"That's what, ugh, that's what he said too." His back arched as his breaths rose into a high keen, before collapsing back down. "How do you fucking stand him?" 

"I love him," he said simply. "And I know he loves me."

There was no way to explain a relationship like theirs. Peter was a king, Kings were not supposed to have love anyway, that was taught to both of them at a very young age. It was not a love that was born of finding the best in one another, it was of seeing the worst, and understanding it better than anyone else around them. Alan had fallen in love with Peter when they were ten years old, when he had confessed that he liked watching Alan do magic because he was just as powerful as him. There had been a glint in those large, child eyes, reflecting the ice blue energy of his aura. Alan had seen great things in him, and while he had expected to be disappointed, as he so often was with people, he was pleasantly surprised that he was right.  
Stiles huffed and made a general racket behind him as he worked. The little device inside him was spelled to be unpredictable, even to himself, so that Stiles had no hope of becoming used to it. Alan took a little pity on him and got up to give him some food and water. "Then what the fuck am I doing here?" 

"We shall see," Alan said. Honestly, he thought he had a pretty good idea where to fit him now. People were often guarded around him, for good reason, but they let their guards down around omegas, even more so at their palace. The tradition in their kingdom was to have omegas as decoration, so people of importance would often treat them as set pieces, going so far as to talk openly in their presence. It was often how Peter kept on top of things. What better way to present him than as Alan's assistant?

The door to the suite opened suddenly, startling Stiles but Alan had felt him coming for a while. By now, he was sure all of them had eaten, and it was time to settle in for the night. Alan didn't turn around as Peter entered the bedroom, thinking that he wouldn't be able to resist a pining and desperate omega, but a pair of solid arms wrapped around his chest, and a chin poked at his head. He hummed pleasantly, enjoying the pressure. "I do hope you were able to spin it in our favor." 

"Of course I did," Peter rumbled, his hands smoothing down Alan's shirt. "There isn't much an alpha threatened can't leverage." 

Alan clucked his tongue in annoyance. "Where does he plan to send her off to?" 

"Oh he doesn't," he said, pulling Alan out of his seat. He spun him around so they were face to face, and he stared up at him with that smirk and that spark in his eyes that had Alan weak-kneed despite himself. "He seems to genuinely want to hold her responsible, but of course we're going to have to take steps if that proves to be incorrect."

Alan snorted at the idea of the king coming in here, seeing Stiles like this, even as Peter started laying lingering kisses on his neck. "Perhaps it would be a good lesson in poisons." 

"Later," Peter growled, already getting into the straps that held his clothing in place, the kisses turning to nips. He pushed Alan up against the bare wall, moving lower to suck a dark spot onto his collarbone, at just the right spot to make him moan. 

As Peter moved down his body, as more clothes were discarded and tossed aside, Alan could clearly see Stiles watching them from the bed, his soft pink lips parted and his pupils blown wide from his lust. Alan knew that this was as much of a punishment for him as the rope and the device. There was a little thrill that went through him that had nothing to do with the way Peter lifted him off his feet so that their hips could press together (well mostly, it was always so good when Peter showed off his strength). He could see the frustration on the omega's face, the confusion, the hurt he was trying to stave off. This was a power play, and Alan wasn't against it at all, it showed him that Alan was still on top. When Peter comes back, he comes back to Alan. 

It wasn't spiteful, he thought, he just wanted to make sure he wasn't being left behind. 

Peter pulled away, his own gaze sharp and calculating despite his own lust. Peter had impeccable self-control, so any noise or roughness was perfectly designed for Alan's benefit. He maneuvered them over to the bed, but pushed Alan, down onto his knees at the foot of it. His trousers were yanked from his legs, leaving him wonderfully exposed. Peter was there in an instant, kissing his way down Alan's spine as a cork was being released from a vial. A genuine squeak came out of him when he felt the first press of Peter's tongue on him, then he melted into it, folding his arms on the mattress. Stiles was trying to peek over to see what they were doing, Alan waved his hand, sending another jolt through the device to keep him occupied; this was for him.

Peter flattened his tongue, his hands gripping Alan's ass like they were a lifeline. There was a bit of stubble from the day scratching at his sensitive skin. A soft quiet moan slipped past his lips, more than he usually allowed. He couldn't articulate what about this position made him lose all sense of decorum. Perhaps it was a secret pleasure, something that no one else would ever experience, having the king of an empire on his knees and pleasuring someone so thoroughly, without touching his own arousal. 

It was the greatest high he ever felt.

He pulled away gently just so Peter would chase, just the way he liked it. He was rewarded with a slicked finger gently exploring him. Alan loved this as well. His hole had to be worked for, not the easy slide of an omega. Peter wanted him enough to work for him. He was willing to take three before the thrill wore off, and he pushed back to show that he was ready.

Peter tossed him onto the bed. He collapsed on top of Stiles, who let out a disgruntled 'oof' as Alan's face pressed into his stomach. He crawled to get into a better position so that they were face to face. He was staring resolutely to the side, he could see the beginnings of tears clutching at the omega's eyes, his pretty features scrunching up so they wouldn't fall. Alan caressed his cheek as Peter climbed up behind him. He pushed into the touch, perhaps thinking that he would take pity on him. But Alan knew how this game worked, Stiles needed to learn it as well. 

"Oh what a lovely sight," Peter groaned, his weight adding to the mix as he licked a line up his spine. He lined up their hips, pressing his cock into the slick of his crack. "You're going to take me, lovely? All the way to the hilt?"

"Of course." Alan scoffed, his voice pitching up as Peter pushed forward without warning. He rolled his hips into the thrusts, feeling it sink into him every inch. 

"So good," Peter moaned, "You listen so well, don't you? You always have the right answers, always know exactly what to do." His hands started moving again, playing up his sides to tease his nipples. 

"Of course I do, if it's for you," Alan said, playing into the game. He had closed his eyes, but he heard Stiles whine quietly. 

"Wouldn't it be nice to have someone else that was as good as you?" Peter teased. "Someone that listened so well and trusted me to look after you." He bit at the shell of Alan's ear. "You would never throw yourself into reckless danger." 

"Never." 

"All right!" Stiles finally snapped. "I understand! I get it!" His voice was sharp but hitched at the end.

"I'm not sure what you mean, Stiles," Peter said. "What is it you understand?" 

"I... I'm not supposed to act on my own." 

"Good. What else?" 

The boy whined, his back arching, their cocks almost touched. "I don't know!" Alan couldn't really blame him, he was having a hard time concentrating as well. 

Peter pulled Alan back so they were pressed against each other, his arms wrapping around his waist and hips in a gesture that made Alan feel positively owned. "If you ever put yourself in danger again," Peter growled, "I will chain you to that bed and throw away the key, do I make myself clear?" Stiles grimaced, but nodded, lowering his gaze in deference. Alan could feel the resulting smile against his shoulder. "Now are you going to be a good boy and do as you're told?" Another petulant nod. "Good. Alan, untie him." 

The order shocked Alan, and it took him a moment to comply. He struggled to focus on the energy connecting the ropes and him, but once he had done so, it was a simple wave of his hand to get the cords to fall away. Stiles flailed, seeming to not know what to do with himself now that he was free, a concept most people grappled with. 

"Take that thing out of you," Peter said, resuming his pace, slamming into Alan and nearly making him lose balance. Stiles quickly did so, tossing the still shaking device onto the empty spot on the bed. "Now get on your knees and place Alan inside you." 

They both jumped at the order, locking eyes in the confusion. Stiles slowly rolled over, tucking his knees under himself as he pushed into position. Alan's cock twitched at the contact, he had never been inside an omega, the slick had traveled all down his crack, cooling along the rim, but inside was very intense, causing another deep moan to fall from his own lips, covered up by the self-satisfied purr Peter was letting out behind him. He thrust into the heat, feeling the velvety walls contracting around him, seeing Stiles react to it was causing feedback loops, pushing forward into him and grinding back into Peter. Soon he was so overwhelmed he couldn't keep his eyes open, letting the noises surrounding him pull him higher than he had ever been. 

"Are you ready?" Peter said in his ear, and he had no idea who it was for. His king's hand moving along his pelvis and tapped at the base of his cock, pushing inside when they were thrusting forward. Stiles felt them and sped up, flinging himself into them. Peter shoved three of his fingers in, crooking them so that they felt bigger. Stiles screamed, and in an instant, his body was convulsing around them both. It was so quick and jarring that it pushed Alan feet first over the edge, coming so hard his vision whited out. 

Peter grunted, once, twice, and then he stayed stock still. Alan could feel the knot pushing against the cleft of his ass, thankfully Peter still had the control to pull back. He could still savor the feeling of seed soaking into him, pride welling up past the exhaustion that was slowly creeping in. 

He had just enough willpower to settle Stiles to the side before he collapsed, burying his face in the pillow. A moment later, Peter was lying half on top of him, a solid, warm weight.

Stiles curled up on the far side facing them, still spasming with the aftershocks, his face seemed to be a twist of indecision, perhaps unsure if he should join them. Alan reached out, pulling him close. He could hear the soft sigh that came with him, and Stiles sleepily burrowed into his chest. 

The punishment was over, and now they could all revel in a lesson well learned.

**Author's Note:**

> comments are love!
> 
> Or you can chat with me here on [My blog](https://crystalmazewriting.tumblr.com/) .


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